The Last Pilgrims

by Michael Bunker

  As the early light of morning began to spread across the land, she could make out a few of the men as they made final preparations for the assault.

  She didn’t like this spot. While it gave her a good view of Bethany and of most of the pass, she was still too low to be able to see if the Aztlani army had arrived. From her vantage point, the view to the south was blocked by the twin mesas. She needed to get closer… and higher.

  Everything her father had told her replayed repeatedly in her mind. She did intend to stay safe, and she wanted to obey her father, but she knew that she needed to get up on the east end of the easternmost mesa in order to be able to command a good view of the battle.

  The militia would have at least two and maybe three men on each of the mesas looking down into the pass. However, the other end of the east mesa—the end she was near—was slightly more elevated and would allow her to see everything clearly.

  She started moving before she could have time to talk herself out of it.

  It’s just like hunting, she told herself, as she moved stealthily through the brush and mesquite that dotted the foothills of the mesa. From where she was, only a few hundred yards to the east, was the Thicket where Peloncio waited patiently. The Thicket curved around from northeast to southwest and ended at the easternmost tip of the east mesa. If she was forced to run, she was confident that she could be back in the Thicket in minutes.

  When she reached the base of the mesa, she concealed herself in another cedar bush and sat perfectly still for another ten minutes. If some Aztlani scout was trying to come around the mesas, or was intending to get up to the top of the mesa, she wanted to know about it before she began her climb.

  When nothing moved, she began her ascent. It took her 20 minutes to scramble to the top, and when she did, the gray light of morning had chased away the darkness of the long night. She crouched low and moved forward, keeping her eyes trained to the surroundings, looking for danger. There were several large boulders on top of the mesa, and she used them for cover as she crawled forward quietly.

  Near the south edge of the mesa, she found the perfect vantage point. Crouching behind some very large boulders, she could now command a view of the entire area. She could see Bethany, and most of the Bethany road that came down from the north. There were no militiamen on the top of the mesa, but she figured they were just below the peak, making sure that they could not be seen from the south. Stretched out below her to the south, she could see for miles and miles, and she caught her breath when she saw that the Aztlani army had arrived. With banners flying, they were forming up, a half-mile south of the pass.

  She could also see Aztlani scouts, two of them, sneaking up towards the south entrance of the pass, staying low, and creeping from cover to cover. She wanted to scream out a warning to the militia, but she knew that it would not help. She reached for an arrow from her quiver, but stopped herself when she remembered her father’s command. Do not get involved! The men were too far away anyway. It would be a miracle if her arrow reached them.

  She was just starting to notice the warmth of the new day, and the light changing from gray to more orange-yellow, when she saw one of the Aztlani scouts pitch backward, an arrow sticking out from his throat! Yes! The other barely had time to register the fact that his partner had been killed, when another arrow entered his chest and he too flopped into the dirt.

  Ruth could not tell from whence the arrows came, but she was ecstatic and felt the adrenaline pump through her, knowing that the scouts had been spotted.

  It seemed like forever, but it was probably only another 15 minutes, before the Aztlanis tried again. This time, there were ten men, all approaching from the West. They were close to the westernmost mesa, and hoped to use the mountain as a shield to get close to the pass. Again, she felt the scream rise up in her throat as she strived with every thread of her being not to do something to warn militiamen guarding the pass.

  Death, in this instance, did not come by arrow, at least not at first. As the advance unit came close to the entrance to the pass, each man clinging as closely as possible to the face of the mountain, they did not see until it was too late as five or six huge boulders came crashing down the mesa on top of them. This time, she saw the militiamen moving quickly back away from the edge of the mesa, and she saw a single arrow strike the back of the only Aztlani soldier with the ability to crawl away from the pile of rocks. Then all became still again, except for the moans and cries of broken men, crushed from above by rocks not much smaller than horses.

  As she wiped away a bead of sweat, and tried her best to calm herself, she heard her brother David’s voice as he shouted to the men guarding the pass.

  “They’ll come heavy this time boys! Shoot and move. No more than two to three shots from one place then move! Keep under cover! Remember… Shoot for the officers! Shoot anyone giving orders first! Then anyone on a horse! If they are wearing armor, the throat and under the arm are the weakest spots! Shoot and move! Don’t let yourself get trapped! Keep a way out behind you! Make them panic! Make them crawl over their own dead bodies to kill you!”

  She had to steady herself from the effects of fear and excitement. Timothy had told her that the body goes into shock at the beginning of a battle, and that there can be an intense fog and confusion. It happened to everyone, but the men who could remain calm and let it pass were the ones who survived. She forced herself to concentrate on her breathing and used every method she knew from hunting to remain calm.

  Off to the south, she could see that the army was preparing a full-out assault on the pass. A hundred men and twenty horses stepped out from the mass of men, and began to advance—slowly at first, and then faster as they got nearer the pass. When they were 50 yards from the south entrance of the pass, they were moving as fast as they could go.

  Arrows rained down from both sides of the pass, and it wasn’t long before all 20 of the cavalrymen were unhorsed and lying wounded on the ground. The infantry hesitated, as they realized that they were going to have to climb over the rubble to advance. For many of them, their hesitation was their last cogent thought, as arrows pierced their bodies. A young officer tried to rally the men by brandishing his sword and pulling out a pistol, but his cry was cut short by an arrow that passed cleanly through his head.

  The Aztlani assault faltered as man after man went down. Within seconds, those who were not wounded or dead were retreating as fast as they could run.

  Ruth was so focused on the assault, that she had neglected her duty to stay aware. Her error occurred to her in a flash when something moving off to her left caught her eye. She swung around the boulder she was lying against just in time to see an assault force of 20 men moving in towards the east. They are trying to flank the militia by coming around the mountain!

  She knew that she was not supposed to get involved, but before she could stop herself, she let go a flurry of arrows, five in all, in a long arc in front of the flanking force. Her intention was not to hit and kill anyone; she wanted it to seem like there were many men guarding the easternmost edge of the mesa.

  Her ploy worked, as the men, who had just seen the slaughter of almost a hundred men trying to take the pass, thought better of their orders and fled back to the main body of the army.

  There was obvious confusion among the ranks of the Aztlani army. Many of the highest-ranking officers had been killed already, and most of the 350 men remaining really wanted nothing to do with trying to force the pass. Someone finally took charge, assembled the rabble back into ranks and ordered a full out charge on the pass. This time, they were all coming.

  Terror filled Ruth’s heart as she saw the army approach. She had never seen, or even imagined, such a terrifying sight. One hundred men on horseback and twice that number on foot. Panic was evident on the soldier’s faces, most of them screaming as they ran. These men were 600 miles away from home, away from any base of resupply.

  No doubt, the officer that had rallied the troops told them that they were
all going to be killed if they did not take the pass. Each man had rape and pillage before him if the pass could be taken, and almost certain death waiting for him, if he retreated and returned home beaten.

  Many of the men pulled out pistols as they rushed forward and began firing wildly into the rocks and boulders, hoping to frighten the men waiting there. The men in front were slowed again as they had to traverse the last 50 yards over the bodies of their fallen countrymen. Several horsemen had their horses killed beneath them, and the panic-stricken animals often trampled living infantrymen who got in their way. All the while, the steady stream of arrows flowed forth from the defenders stationed in the gap.

  As the Aztlani army surged forward, they were so intent on a last, desperate attempt on the pass, that they did not see the huge force of militiamen sweeping up behind them on horseback. Ruth saw them, and she did scream this time. It was Phillip and the main Ghost militia force!

  Ruth cheered aloud as she saw Phillip, who rode standing up in his stirrups, his sword gripped tightly in his hand. Alongside him were Gareth and the man they called The Mountain, leading the charge.

  It was too late when the Duke of El Paso’s army discovered what was happening to them. Some of them may have heard hoofbeats coming from behind, but most of them did not. The front echelons fell from arrows fired by the men in the pass and, as the assault slowed upon crashing into the boulders, Phillip and the militia cut the army to shreds from the rear. The entire action lasted less than five minutes, but the five minutes of battle resulted in a bloody slaughter.

  None of the enemy force was left alive, and no one was allowed to surrender.

  Later, as they gathered themselves and tended the wounded militiamen that were brought into Bethany, Phillip explained that the men were free to surrender before the battle had begun. “Once the battle begins,” he said, “the time for surrender is over. We do not have the time, the manpower, or the inclination to babysit Aztlani prisoners. The whole nation of Aztlan may surrender right now, if they like. But if they come here to take the spoils, we will water the ground with their blood.”

  She found Timothy and David tending to the wounded in the makeshift hospital that had been set up in the Public House. It seemed to her that not many had been wounded at all. When she walked in, both Tim and David greeted her with a scowl of contempt and confusion, but after she explained that she had received permission from her father to scout the battle, they relented. She gave them a quick report about where she had been throughout the battle, and what she had seen. She carefully omitted the part about the five arrows she had shot.

  Tim, seeing that she was still overwhelmed with what she had seen, came over to her and pulled her aside.

  “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling, Ruth.”

  “I’m doing fine. I was just so worried about you and David… and all the men. I was so scared.” She looked at him, checking him up and down for any signs of harm. “Are you injured?”

  “No. Just a few scrapes and bruises from scrambling up and down the mesa. Shockingly, of the six men who had held the pass, five of us are alive and unhurt.”

  “Five?”

  Timothy looked down, and then took her by her shoulders. “Ruth… Jack Johnson was killed by a stray bullet… a ricochet.”

  “Oh, my,” she let out a sigh, feeling a little weak in her knees. He guided her to a chair that was not occupied by the wounded. She looked out of the window, and could see that high in the air, the vultures had already begun to circle for the feast.

  “I know that you’ve known Jack for your whole life, Ruth, and that he was very close with your family. I’m sorry. Maybe I could have talked him out of coming… I don’t know.”

  “He came because he wanted to come, and because he wanted to protect David. You couldn’t have stopped him. Besides, my father said that any man who wanted to fight, could fight.” She looked at him again, “No… you couldn’t have stopped him. This is God’s will.”

  “I don’t know about that, or if I even understand what you mean by that, Ruth. I do know that I’ve been in quite a few battles, and it is never easy to lose someone you care about. This will affect your family and the entire Vallensian community. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Then let’s just do what we can to help these men,” she said, standing up and smoothing her dark headcovering. She walked past Tim to see what she could do to help. As she started to move away, Tim stopped her.

  “Don’t think that I don’t know what you did up there,” he said, smiling.

  “What do you mean?” she replied.

  “We saw that flanking force move out to the east. David had already started moving with two other men to try to meet them on the backside. Then we saw the men stop, turn around, and flee. We couldn’t figure out why they retreated. Now I know.”

  “How could you know?” Ruth said, acting as innocently as she could.

  He pointed at the quiver on her back. “You’re a little light there. I’d say, maybe five or six arrows light, but who’s counting?”

  She looked down, then back up at him, “I must have dropped them on the ride down.”

  “Sure you did,” he said, smiling warmly.

  Ruth blushed, and as she walked by him, she silently found his hand and placed into it the arrowhead he had given her when he left the ranch.

  Part Two

  Chapter 10 - Gareth

  There is a personal terror that surpasses the carnal fear that every warrior feels when going into battle. That ultimate terror is not the fear of death, but the knowledge that he might live, while his loved ones die. Gareth did not know this terror first-hand, but he could see it on the face of Phillip as they inventoried the weapons and material gained in the battle at Bethany.

  The urgent message that San Angelo had been burned by the retreating Vallenses, and that Bethany was soon to fall, had come just as the Ghost militia was planning their attempt to rescue Phillip’s wife Juliet and the girls. The Ghost had to make a decision, and he had to make it fast. The militia leader sent Rob Fosse and Sir Gerold the rebel Aztlani knight, along with 20 militia soldiers northward to attempt the rescue of his wife and children.

  Gareth, Phillip, The Mountain, and almost 200 Ghost militia warriors immediately rode south at full speed to try to flank and overwhelm the Aztlani army attacking Bethany.

  It would be days and maybe even longer—depending on the outcome—before Phillip would find out whether his wife and daughters were safe, but the Ghost leader never said a word about his concerns. Gareth was impressed that Phillip always maintained a professional demeanor, and that he focused on keeping up the morale of his troops, especially after the lightning victory at Bethany.

  Arriving at the twin mesas, the militia force almost instantly overwhelmed the struggling Aztlani attackers, but most of the credit for the stunning victory went to David and that handful of brave warriors standing in the gap at the twin mesas.

  As a Prince, he had learned the art of war at the hands and feet of the greatest military minds of Aztlan; and his father, the King, made sure that he received the best military education that could be procured. Still, he had never seen acts of heroism and bravery such as the defenders at Bethany had displayed.

  The hardest, and most important, work in a battle of this sort is the warfare that takes place in the minds of men. The Aztlani forces had been defeated in their minds long before they died on the field. A handful of men with arrows had made Bethany seem impregnable in the opinion of the average Aztlani soldier, and this mental reality made Bethany impregnable to him in real life. The invaders knew they were going to die… they just chose to die moving forward, rather than retreating.

  He could only assume that the Aztlani force must have concluded that they were outmanned and outgunned. In their minds, they had already resigned to a mental state that means the death knell in any engagement… they had succumbed to panic and fear.

  Fear, in and of itself, can be a great motivator
in battle, but when that fear becomes irrational and is coupled with the type of panic that silences the better voices of wisdom and circumspection, the battle is all but over. There is nothing left for that army to do but die.

  For Gareth, this had been his first engagement in war. He had practiced and drilled since he was a boy; but, until Bethany, his steel had never been forged in battle. How could he have ever known that his first real battle would be against Aztlan?

  Silently flanking the Aztlani army, the militia force had double advantage—the elements of surprise and position. Entering the fray, he felt the thrill and terror of battle and, for the first time, had experienced a phenomenon about which his mentors had taught him. When in battle, fear and terror, as well as the resulting adrenaline surge, must be recognized, and then controlled and channeled productively. He felt the fog of war and the numbing dullness of uncertainty and confusion when he first drew his sword in battle, but as the killing progressed, the fear and panic had transformed into concentration and purpose.

  A part of him knew that he was traitorously killing his own men—men who had sworn themselves to his father, the King, and to himself as Crown Prince and heir to the throne. Still, he had to rest on the knowledge that in order for his vision for a greater and more peaceful Aztlan to prevail, for a time, Aztlan had to be the enemy. The lowly soldier could not know what private forces had driven him to abandon his father and side with his father’s enemies.

  Prince Gareth of Aztlan did not believe that he had rebelled against, or abandoned, his country. He might be a traitor to his father, but not to his country. All of the actions he was engaged in were for his country. Sometimes, in order to support and love your country, you must oppose and fight the government of your country.

  As a young prince, he spent many years with Sir English at New Rome, and his father’s adjutant had taught him that in order for there to be peace in any Kingdom, there must be freedom—typically purchased at a heavy price.